Thicker Than Water
by Clarissa
Summary: Just a short story, but please, please review - for my english coursework


  
A great peace came over him as he looked up at the sky. The graceful blue melted into striking bursts of orange and red. Just above the ancient tower, a wash of black hung weightlessly, looking down at the swell in the land, awakening the blanket of stars.   
  
All of nature seemed to be in complete equilibrium; especially the soft breeze carrying a silence which spoke volumes.  
  
All, execpt of course for the star. That star.  
  
If ever he had believed in a deity, a higher power, a meaning of life, any balance to the evil he knew walked the universe, then it was now. For now, in that star, he saw his fear, his calling, his purpose, his death.  
  
It was now time to fulfill his duty, as the man he should have been; to face up to his coming life as he could not do his past.  
  
The star shamed all the others in the sky and sparkled knowingly on the ground at his feet. Magical ground. Ancient ground. Holy ground.  
  
The fact that this site had belonged to the Driud, Merlin, had been the burial ground of King Arthur, the site of Camelot explained most of the mystical energy which still radiated through the groundflow, along the soil and into his bones. It electrified the air and made the past tangible, just beyond reach. It also was the reason so many people had come to immerse themselves in the rich, Celtic mythology.  
  
Hovever, this was far from simply a Pagan site; it was where all the laylines crossed, and it applies to all things spiritual. All things he would try to cleanse, to wash free of past sins in readiness for the coming ones he knew would weigh upon him soon.  
  
It was the holiest ground on Earth.  
  
Save for Jesusalem, this soil, grass, mud, water, it was all the most precious in the world. It was the site of the first Christian church in England. Jesus himself founded it with Joseph of Arimethea in one of the many lost years of his youth.   
  
It was Arimethea who then returned after the last supper to plant the holy grail in this holy soil. This, most sought after of objects now stained the water of the chalice well in the abbey at the foot of the hill red. It was reputed to have contained healing powers. This is what had drawn him to it.  
  
As he had run his hands through the liquid, he realised that it was not simply water.  
  
It was thicker than water.  
  
Like blood; or like blood was supposed to be but never had been for him. It was while his hands were being blessed with this elixir that the full sorrow of his actions had hit him.  
  
And he had mourned. He had mourned for the friends he had to leave behind, but most of all he mourned for the child he had but never fathered, and the child he had fathered but had never been his.  
  
"I wrote this song, two hours before we met  
I didn't know your name, or what you looked like yet,  
Life could have been very different but then, Something Changed."  
  
This state of unease had continued into the night in his hotel room; the soft sounds of music which seemed to echo through the building ominously, as if the walls themselves were singing rather than a sound system in a particular room only served to feed the demon of bitterness growling inside him.  
  
"Do you believe, that there's someone, up above?  
And does he have a timetable, directing acts of love?"  
Why did I write this song, on that one day?  
Whay did you touch my hand  
And softly say:  
'Stop asking questions that don't matter anyway'"  
  
He could not separate himself from the feeling that he was worse than a demon. Demons did not desert their own kind. From the loss of separation, to the grief of reunion. He could not understand why the latter had wounded him more, perhaps he was a different person now.   
  
"Oh when we woke up that morning we had no way of knowing   
That in a matter of hours we'd change the way we were going.  
Where would I be now? Where we I be now if we'd never met?  
I don't know but like you just said,  
Something Changed."  
  
Something inside him had changed, as well as his circumstances.   
  
This was the primary reason why he was looking at the star which was directly illuminating the spot of the heavens which draped across Glastonbury Tor.  
  
The same star, he had no doubt, which had shone so brightly two thousand years ago over Bethlehem and had led three wise men to an event which would shape the world forever. Now it was leading him to another such event and he had no idea what would be the outcome.  
  
In the distance he could hear people singing in the concert in Glastonbury Abbey. They were singing 'Jerusalem' whilst laying on blankets on the grass, some in dinner jackets sipping champagne, some in jeans munching on crisps.  
  
'And did those feet, in ancient times,  
Walk upon England's mountains green..  
  
The people were watching in awe as a giant cross was lighted by fireworks as the shows finale.  
  
Watching them from the foot of the hill of the Tor, he prayed for the endless drumming of time to come to a halt. He prayed for children never to grow up, for the singing never to quiet and for the sun never to rise. For even in the dangers of the night there were ways to fight, usually crosses, stakes and holy water. But for the danger that was coming he knew no protection. He only knew that with the rising of the sun, everyone was one step closer; whether up the stairs of the Tor to the heavens, or down to the underworld past the deeply embedded grail he did not know. But he did know that with each rising of the sun they were closer to the summer solstice of the second millenium, and to the day of judgement.  
  
That was why he was standing at the foot of the Tor, as the blues and oranges of the sky drowned in an unstoppable sea of black. That was why he felt the end coming. That was not why his soul was shriveled, but this only helped make his mind more determind. This is why he was wearing a dark black robe and was about to perform a long forgotten magical rite which he had reservations about.  
  
"May the Lord forgive me." He murmered to himself as he tried to shake away the sorrow which came from a letter, a simple contact he had recieved only a few weeks ago from a phantom aquaintence he had long since parted company with. He tried to channel this grief into his magical energy as he prepared himself for what was to come.  
  
He was so lost in his own thoughts, he hardly heard the other man break the circle around the Tor and address him.  
  
"Rupert?" He said softly. "Are you ready to start?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
As Rupert Giles toward the second man, a bright star burned ferociously in the inky abyss above.   
  
***********  
  
On either side of the river lie,  
Long fields of Barley, and of Rye;  
That cloth the wold and meet the sky,  
And thro' the field a river runs by  
Running down to Camelot.  
  
*********** 


End file.
